Definition
by ShadowPrincess-Shekailaia
Summary: A take on House and Wilson's friendship. Wilson would always be there for him. He was his friend, his conscience, his hope. Written for the House: Last Author Standing challenge, prompt was hope.


**Definition**

_Hope is a thing with feathers  
That perches in the soul,  
And sings the tune without the words  
And never stops at all…_

Wilson knew House long enough to know his routine by heart. Underneath the sarcastic, abrasive, and overall unfriendly exterior, there was a man that was every bit as vulnerable as the next, possibly even more so because of the nasty train wreck of his leg.

That was a forbidden topic, his leg. One word of it and he'd shut you out, forget you ever mentioned it, and blatantly ignore you as if you were some persistent fly that _would not_ get out of his face.

However, as soon as the leg started its own unyielding screams, House would make sure that no one was near him when it happened. If he couldn't avoid that, Wilson would play crowd control, saving House from the added pressure of spectators and their pitying words. He'd done it for a good six years, and he would continue for as long as House needs it. It was a constant routine that had ingrained itself into the most instinctual reflexes of Wilson's being. _Live. Breathe. Circulate blood. Keep House safe from his pain. _It never stopped, and Wilson never even had to think about it anymore.

_And sweetest in the gale is heard;  
And sore must be the storm  
That could abash the little bird  
That kept so many warm…_

Wilson knew that Cuddy had been dealing with feelings of guilt and regret over what had happened in the course of that one month. After all, _she_ had let Tritter run amok in her hospital, not knowing the extensive consequences until it was too late. _She_ had told House to apologize, knowing deep down that he wouldn't even consider it. And _she _must have felt responsible for the disaster that had nearly taken House away and ended the indispensable friendship of two department heads that she respected so much. It was a strange relationship the three of them had, and it had nearly been lost in the midst of this incident.

Wilson had been torn, losing his license, his account, and his car. However, that wasn't nearly as tragic as coming a thread's width of losing his friendship with House. When everything with the slightest meaning was torn out from under him, his morals were hardly able to sustain him. Cuddy only hoped that he could recover from it completely, and take House, however reluctantly, down that road as well.

"Leave us alone a minute, will you?" House hardly heard the soft-spoken words over the hissing of blood in his ears and rapid beat of his heart. A tremor had passed through his leg sometime during the differential, causing him to collapse. He wasn't quite aware of what happened next, but someone must have went to get Wilson—_or maybe he was there all along—_and House realized he was now sitting in a chair, gripping his leg like some sort of lifeline, however ironic it sounded.

His vision was blurry, and he lost touch with his surroundings except for the white-hot fire in his mind, and that soft voice echoing in his head. The voice was the only thing keeping him grounded, awake. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he soon felt a hand grasp his shoulder, gentle, but firm in its grip.

The spasm soon passed, disappearing as quickly as it had come, like all the others. House released his leg gradually, hesitantly as if the throbbing pain would resurface as soon as he let go. He opened his eyes, and looked to Wilson. The look in his expression wasn't pity, or some sort of emotional misery, but patience, which was practically the definition of his friend.

Wilson was a constant. He would always be there to drive off the pathetic onlookers, allow him his privacy. Wilson had given up so much for House's sake: his friends, his job, and even the chance to save his most recent marriage. It was a subtle hint to say that House was stuck that way. Stuck dealing with the man who could place hope into his patients, his colleagues, and maybe, _just maybe_, place a small flicker of hope into his best friend as well.

_I've heard it in the chillest land,  
And on the strangest sea;  
Yet, never, in extremity,  
It asked a crumb of me…_

_--Emily Dickinson_


End file.
